Cold love bomb

More cold, damn it all. When will it ever end? London is angry with cold. I stood in the window and tried to cheer a tiny bit of the freezing city up. I may or may not have succeeded. I didn’t succeed in cheering myself up. I was just too cold.

Fashionable leggings. Two pairs, with the most fashionable on the outside. Cashmere jumper under fashionable branded hoodie. Huge pink cat head. Enthusiasm. Check. More enthusiasm? Caffeine? Check.

Joy Bomb is now Love Bomb and there’s a van with videos. We’re backing it up in the window while whoever is left on the post apocalyptic streets of London can be momentarily bemused by this van with a sexy panda.

Meanwhile, opposite our window, Claridges have opened an Épicerie. People stand in short queues and emerge smiling with white boxes full of all sorts of goodies. They see us and wave as they wait. “You must be cold,” mimes a man in full chef’s uniform after he realises we’re entertaining their customers while they wait. “We are absolutely freezing,” we mime back, and a few minutes later there’s a guy crossing the road to us with two hot cups of coffee. Good coffee too. Claridges, innit. “I’m glad I’m back on the caffeine” I think while I sip. My blood has turned to ice and despite the dancing I might shatter if I bang my elbow. The coffee helps.

And so the day passes in coffee, dancing, coffee and cold. By the time I get home I’m tired from it all, so tired from this sodding cold, but Lou is running a hot hot bath and there’s food to cook. We eat and heat and wind down and then watch a documentary about The Isle of Man and the TT races. Now I’m trying to write and getting a constant flow of information about Guy Martin. He’s the centre of the doc and has clearly written his own Wikipedia as it’s full of completely irrelevant information which Lou is imparting to me as I try to hold some form of consistent memory of what I’m writing. It’s not easy, but he’s an unusual fellow, Guy. A man after my own heart in some ways but crazier than me. Addicted to adrenaline the poor lad, although his thing is motorbikes. It’s a miracle all his limbs are still attached, but you can say that of anybody who rides. Which reminds me, spring is coming. It’s nice having a car but …

Author: albarclay

This blog is a work of creative writing. Do not mistake it for truth. All opinions are mine and not that of my numerous employers.

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